Mendaro

The church bell in Mendaro strikes twice, and nobody hurries. A woman waters geraniums on a first-floor balcony; two builders lean against a white van drinking coffee from china cups; the Deba river keeps its own steady note beneath it all. This is not the Basque Country of Michelin stars and silverware, but of wet grass, cider barrels and neighbours who still nod good morning.

Mendaro sits 35 km west of San Sebastián, trapped between the Cantabrian Sea and the rolling uplands of Gipuzkoa. The valley narrows here, so every road, path and thought eventually tilts towards water. You can be on the beach in Deba within 15 minutes by car, yet the air inland smells of hay and manure, not salt. Coast and sierra share the same weather map: one minute Atlantic mist, the next bright mountain sun. Pack both waterproof and sunglasses; locals do.

Walking First, Everything Else Second

The town centre is aT-shaped knot of seven streets. Ten minutes of brisk walking will see you back at the start, so visitors who stay there wonder what the fuss is about. The real map is outside the nucleus: hamlets called Arno, Ibirio and Zestao stitched together by farm tracks. Stone houses – many still called etxea, not casa – face south-east, their wooden balconies painted ox-blood red. Between them, meadows drop to the river in folds that turn from emerald to black-green when clouds crowd the ridge.

Footpaths are sign-posted but modestly; yellow dashes on walls, not glossy boards. A useful loop heads upstream from the old mill, crosses a steel footbridge and returns on the opposite bank. Distance: 4 km, mostly level. If you want height, continue past the disused hydro station and climb the concrete service road to the reservoir; add another 200 m of ascent and views back down the valley that make the detour worthwhile. After rain the surface turns to chocolate porridge – proper boots, not trainers.

Cyclists use the same lanes. Traffic is light before 08:30, aggressive afterwards when commuters dash to the A-8 coastal motorway. A morning circuit south to Elgoibar (11 km) and back along the river is popular with local clubs; hire bikes are non-existent, so bring your own or ask the tourist office for the private number of Iñaki, who rents hybrids from his garage for €20 a day.

What You’ll Actually Eat

Basque cuisine is marketing gold, yet Mendaro keeps the show straightforward. Thursday market fills Plaza Txurruka with lettuces still carrying field soil and cheese wrapped in cabbage leaves. Bar Azken Andamio writes the daily pintxo on a blackboard; if your Spanish stalls, point at whatever is leaving the kitchen fastest. Locals recommend the morro (pig’s snout) bocadillo; wary Brits usually settle for tortilla with caramelised onion. Both cost €2.50. Coffee is €1.20 if you stand, €1.50 if you sit – the price difference is not a tourist tax, simply custom.

Sidrería season runs January to April. Sarasua, five minutes up the road in a converted farmhouse, serves unlimited cider straight from the barrel and half-kilo rib-eye steaks cooked rare. Vegetarians get a roasted piquillo pepper stuffed with egg and ratatouille, but you must request it when booking. The set menu is €32 including pudding; house rules say you eat what you’re given and share tables with strangers. Conversation is bilingual shouting.

For edible souvenirs, Saint-Gerons chocolatier on Calle Kalebarria is the only shop with an English-language website. The owner trained in Lyon, returned home and now infuses truffles with txakoli wine. A 180 g tasting selection survives the flight to Luton if vacuum-sealed (€9, done while you wait).

Getting Here Without the Car Hire Argument

The E-1 coastal train is one of Spain’s undersold bargains. Bilbao-Abando to Mendaro takes 55 minutes, costs €4.85 and the rolling stock is scarcely older than a CrossCountry Voyager. Trains leave every 30 minutes at peak, hourly off-peak, last return 22:10. From San Sebastián the journey is shorter (38 min) but you change at Amorebieta; total fare €5.60. Buy tickets from the bright-red CAF machines – they switch to English, accept contactless and never queue the way Renfe counters do.

Buses are cheaper (€3.20 from Bilbao) but slower because they meander through every coastal hamlet. The DB04 continues to Deba if you fancy an afternoon swim; the connection is timed at the hospital roundabout, not the station, so confirm with the driver.

Drivers should note that the town’s only public car park is beneath the fronton court; first hour free, then €0.70/hr, cash-only. Street spaces fill by 09:00 and Saturday rules baffle even residents – read the Spanish notice very slowly.

When the Weather Doesn’t Play

Atlantic fronts can pin you indoors for half a day. The museum cupboard inside the town hall opens on request and contains a 1920s sock-knitting machine that once kept the entire valley shod. Fascinating for ten minutes; after that, retreat to Cafe Koxka for a cortado and eavesdrop on conversations in Basque, Spanish and increasingly, English expletives about the rain. Carry a proper jacket, not a festival poncho; umbrellas become kites here.

Summer brings the opposite problem: by 14:00 the valley traps heat and humidity. The solution is elevation: drive 20 minutes to the Aritxulegi pass (630 m) where pine shade and cooler air make picnicking bearable. If you’re train-only, catch the 08:09 to Deba, walk the old fishermen’s path to Mutriku and cool off at the small beach before coach-loads arrive at eleven.

Staying the Night (or Not)

Hotels are thin on the ground. Hotel Spa Norat is a modern brick block on the ring-road with small rooms and a decent pool; doubles from €85 including breakfast. The real option is private apartments: four are listed on the regional tourism site, prices €70-€110. Expect wooden beams, diesel heaters you must light yourself and neighbours who turn the TV up for the football. There is no campsite, though wild camping is tolerated above the reservoir if you leave no trace.

How Long Do You Need?

Two hours lets you stroll the centre, buy chocolate and photograph the church tower reflected in the river. A full day adds a valley walk and a cider-house lunch. Staying overnight only makes sense if you’re using Mendaro as a base for multiple hikes or you crave darkness so complete you can read Orion like a map.

Leave before sunrise on your final morning and you’ll meet bread vans delivering still-warm loaves to bars that won’t unlock for another hour. That quiet exchange – headlight, nod, paper bag – is the town in miniature: nothing grand, everything shared, the day started without applause.